Minds of Copper
by Junkied
Summary: Steampunk AU. A collection of poems and tales revolving around the life of Sir Hershel Layton, the greatest inventor of Dystopian London.
1. Floral Tosh

**Floral Tosh**

* * *

_Dearly departed,  
your desires overwhelm.  
Time takes its toll,  
but it never gives back._

_Corrosive metal  
holds no benefit to gain.  
Fabricated mind  
provides all necessities._

_You've waited so long,  
but only metals remain.  
The gears continue on,  
rusting away and tainting blood._

_Dearly departed,  
your desires overwhelm.  
Time takes its toll,  
but it never gives back._

* * *

Up the spiraling tower of bronze and silver, he went.

Sir Layton had expected as much when it came to perplexing mysteries such as these. As he and his assistant ascended, the sea of smog seems to thicken the higher they went. He deemed it a test for the seekers of the famed _'Golden Apple'_, straining their capabilities to the limit. Suffocating as it was, the duo remained unaffected, for their lungs were metallic; an extension, they claim.

How else were they to survive the polluted city of Dystopian London?

"What do you think the '_Golden Apple' _is, Sir?" His little assistant, Luke, asked curiously as they bounded up the staircase, his satchel swinging here and there as the tools and cogs clinked and clanked inside. Though young, the boy knew more of mechanics than the average child; a specialty, really.

"Hm…" The latter hummed, holding a metallic hand beneath his chin. "I have a possible theory, my boy…but I have yet to come to a solid conclusion." He said thoughtfully.

Their chatters echoed around the bronze interior as they blindly continued on through the thickening air of fossil fuels and ash. Not once, but twice they had to stop in order to take on challenges of the mind; a puzzle, they called it.

Alas, they stood no chance against the famous Hershel Layton. With a chilling clink, and the cogs spun as the gates that barricaded them were pulled away and out of sight. They continued on.

Eventually, they reached the top of the complex path, opening the hatchet at the end to see the orange-tainted skies that belonged to mechanical Earth. The fresh air was sort of relieving to the duo, even if their lungs were accustomed to the pollutants of smog.

Their journey is coming to a close.

"…Hm? Look Professor!" Luke chirped as he pointed to the side, a sort of childish glee sparkling in his rusted-brown eyes. The elder followed his assistant's gaze and was astonished to see a small cottage a few feet away, alone on this roof. It looked to be from older times, as it were made from simple resources such as wood and brick; heck, it even had a chimney!

The thing that caught Layton's eye, however, was the artwork strewn around the wooden door. Electrical wires were wrapped around it, and on it laid cogs of all shapes, painted in silvers and golds.

"How peculiar…" He mused aloud as they climbed out and cautiously made their way to the alienated home. The closer they grew, the louder the sounds of machinery grew. Perhaps it was a shed or workshop. "To think that these homes still exist…"

They knocked on the door. _Once, twice, thrice. _There was no response.

Curious, the inventor wrapped his mechanical fingers around the golden knob of the door, and twisted. It creaked, but opened nonetheless. Adjusting the brim of his worn-out top-hat, he slowly peeked in.

"Hello? Is there anyone here?" He called out.

…

With a frown, Sir Layton pushes the door open a bit more, allowing his assistant a view of the interior. It appeared to be a flat, withered by time and old with rust. A table sat innocently at the middle of the room, with two armchairs surrounding it. From their view, they could see a doorway that led to a kitchen, another which led to what looked like a closet and one that led to the bathroom.

All of which were foreign to the duo.

"Woah~ is this genuine?" Luke awed as he stepped in, gazing at the dust-encased furniture and knick-knacks. "I didn't think anyone would have a home like this anymore!"

"Indeed, my boy." Layton chuckled as he closed the door behind him, observing the environment as well. "It is quite odd as how such a thing remains intact, but historically fascinating nonetheless."

They looked around a bit more, until both their gazes befell a lone bed on the other side of the room, hidden in the shadowed corner. On it laid a figure, one that was undistinguishable from their distance. So they slowly walked towards it, curiosity overflowing.

It could have been an eternity before they reached it, and when they did, a sad sigh left the elder's lips.

"Oh dear…" He mumbled sadly.

Luke trembled at the sight, clinging close to the other. Lying on the bed was a young girl…or, at least, what _used _to be a young girl. The dress she wore had rotten away and collected dust, and her skin all but dried away, leaving nothing but bone and thread. In her rib cage, a single golden cog laid inside, an image of an apple etched on the metallic skin.

"It would seem the famed _'Golden Apple' _was a human from the olden times." Layton said quietly, bowing his head in respect for the departed. "…However, it would appear that she could not adapt to our…_harsh _environments. I suppose she passed away earlier than expected." He concluded.

"A…human?" The younger echoed. "…I didn't think there would be any humans left at his point. Everyone's mechanical now…" He thought aloud.

Neither uttered a word after that, paying their respects in silence to the dead. The possibility of meeting a living, breathing human would have astounded the inventor, but alas, it was not meant to be. Time had taken its toll, the remnants of humanity, and left nothing but cogs and machinery in their wake.

What a truly cruel world it was.

"…What do you think her name was, Sir?"

…

"I am unsure of that, my boy…but if it were my choice, I would have loved to call her _Flora_."

* * *

**_Tosh (Old English) = Nonsense_  
**

**Author's Note: So how was it? Lately, I've been obsessed with Steampunk tales, so I've wondered what it would been like if I placed Layton and co in such an era, and ta-da; this thing was bored. ****Expect lot's of Old English and whatnot.**

**Oh, and the chapters may or may not go in the order of the PL Timeline; I'm just writing whatever comes to mind first. :L**

**Review plz?**


	2. Ersatz Bounce

**Ersatz Bounce**

* * *

_Today, I am your God.  
I conjure up the next world  
and listen to your prayers._

_I hear a plea.  
I grant a wish.  
You give me words.  
I give you life._

_Today, I am your God.  
I conjure up the next world  
and listen to your prayers._

_I hear a plea.  
I build a grave.  
You give me words.  
I give you satisfaction_

_Today, I am your God.  
I conjure up the next world  
and listen to your prayers._

_I'll drag you back down.  
For I am the fly  
you pray._

* * *

To the people of London, Sir Layton was seen as a savior of sorts; the very example of a kindhearted gentleman. Whenever a problem arose, or when a new mystery beckoned for solutions, the man was always the first to appear on the job, a trait that many lacked when it came to present-day Dystopian London.

Of course, their definition was strained.

Sir Layton was, by no means, a _savior._

Sure, his mind knew no boundary, and he was always there to help the needy, especially when the solution relied on his skills as an inventor. People came into his little workshop on a daily basis, pleading that he cure them from whatever it was they were suffering about; defects, diseases, instabilities, he fixed them all.

…

Or, at least, they think he did.

It was one of the worst jobs Layton had ever done in life, but he had no right to say that aloud. With the city in such a dystopian state, he wouldn't be able to even _utter _his opinion without being punished for it. So all he could do was play along and act like a magician to the suffering people.

"There's someone at the door, Sir!" Luke yelled over the sounds of whirring cogs and electrical currents. Their home was not much; a giant workshop, really, complete with a looming clock overhead. Their beds, nothing more but lumps of fabric, were in the farthest of corners and out of public sight.

Machines didn't sleep as much, after all.

"Do let them in, please!" Layton called back as he fiddled with a set of cogs, attaching them to metallic rods and greasing them for easier movement. To him, this was the only source of joy he could find in such a conniving job; almost like a puzzle.

The assistant nodded and swung the rusted-brown door open, revealing two grim and unfamiliar faces. He smiled a pearly smile and politely greeted them, stepping aside to allow the guests entry. Reluctantly, they entered, and the boy took the moment to observe.

One was a young woman, perhaps close to adulthood. Her hair was a peculiar shade of violet, trimmed short at the chin and growing shorter at the back of the head. Her eyes perplexed him, being a crystal-blue color; obviously fake or enhanced. Her dress consisted of golden trims and brown leather, and a cog-like key hung around her neck.

A beautiful lady, he thought.

The other was an elderly man, who leaned on the woman for support. His skin was pale and perhaps dry to the touch, and his hair looked as though it were made from white thread. His eyes were also the same crystal-blue color, too lively to be genuine. Hunched, he wore a brown cloak, and around his side, what looked like a pocket watch was embedded in, ticking at a too-fast rate.

Pitiful, Luke thought.

"Good day, my friends." Layton said with a sickly sweet smile, wiping the leftover grease off of his hands as he hurried over to the trio, nodding at Luke. The boy nodded back and stepped away; no need to be cautious any longer, the inventor could handle it.

"Good day to you to, Sir Layton." The violet-haired woman replied, bowing her head in respect. "We've come in need of dire aid." She paused. "…Oh, forgive me for my rudeness. My name is Katia Anderson, and this is my grandfather, Anton Herzen."

The elder wheezed a hello, a hand clutching painfully at his chest.

"It is very nice to meet you both." The gentleman said politely. "Now then, might I ask what the problem may be?"

Katia glanced sadly at her grandfather. "…It's Anton, Sir. You see, he was given an extension that would prolong his lifespan for at least a few more years…but for some reason, it's failing." She patted his back in a comforting way. "He's in so much pain right now…I-I was hoping you could fix it."

Layton hummed to himself for a moment, stepping closer to observe the elder carefully. Anton gave him a pained smile, and huffed.

"I-I understand i-if it irreplaceable, S-Sir." He said wryly.

"Nonsense, nothing is irreplaceable." The inventor said with a smile, turning on his heel and waving for them to follow. "Come, I know the perfect solution." He beckoned.

Luke stayed by the door, a frown evident on his face.

_Why did they have to be stuck with this responsibility? _He thought grimly. _It wasn't fair._

* * *

About a few hours later, after toiling around with several tools, gears, and metals, Sir Layton breathed out a relieved sigh when he was finally finished with his handiwork. Anton had been fairly silent and patient throughout the entire procedure, unlike his granddaughter, who thought out every worst possibility that could have occurred.

Ah, the wonders of the young.

"I suppose that should be it." Layton said as he strapped the last of his device onto the back of the elderly man, connecting several of the wires into the holes that had been drilled into skin and bone. The pocket-watch that was embedded in Anton's side had slowed down considerably, and was now ticking at a normal, reliving pace.

It was that of a miracle for the duo.

"How do you feel, grandfather?" Katia asked quietly as the man stood up, stretching the stiffness out of his limbs as he fumbled with his cloak. She helped him put the clothing back on, smiling when he smiled.

"I feel perfectly fine, my dear. The pain had subsided now, and I've regained a bit of my strength." He chuckled wearily, turning back to his savior. "Thank you very much, Sir Layton." He then handed him a fair-sized pouch, brimming with coins of silver and platinum. A considerable payment.

"It was no trouble at all, my good man." Layton said with a smile, adjusting the brim of his hat. "I highly recommend that you not strain yourself though, and you tread carefully with that device on your back. Should it malfunction at any moment, do return, and I'll happily fix it up again; free of charge." He chuckled.

What happened next caught him by surprise.

Katia suddenly lunged and wrapped her arms around him; a warm, suffocating embrace.

"Thank you!" She said. "Oh, I wish we could pay you more, Sir Layton! Thank you for helping us out!"

The gentleman, with a pink-tinted face, awkwardly patted her head as she released him with possibly the brightest of smiles he had ever seen in his life. A sudden lump began to form in his stomach; _guilt._

"Please, I'm happy to help you out." He said quietly, bidding them a final farewell before they had left his workshop with smiles on their faces. His smile faltered, and he sighed heavily.

"…Sir, what did you give him this time?" Luke asked once he knew the pair were gone and out of ear-shot. He seemed so serious for a child…it certainly did not suit him at all.

"I gave him a device that would lessen the pain. Nothing more." The inventor stated with a hint of sadness. "I don't think there was any way to extend the time he had left; the extension he was given is actually spot-on time. His life won't be prolonged for another few years, my boy. He was meant to die soon."

Seeing the hurt look on the elder's face, Luke moved in and hugged him as well, knowing he needed it more than ever.

This time, Layton returned the embrace as warmly as he could.

_Will God ever forgive them for bringing false hopes?_

* * *

_**Ersatz (Old English/Steampunk Vocabulary) = A fake or replacement material**_

_**Bounce (Old English) = To con someone into believing or doing something**_

_**Fly (Old English) = Quick-witted/Clever**_

**Author's Note:**** Ah, I love Katia and Anton. I feel a bit bad though for doing this to them...but oh well. I consider this a drabble since I just typed this up on a whim. :P I simply adore angsty Layton~**

**Review plz?**


	3. Ambrosian Prayer

**Ambrosian Prayer**

* * *

_Singing in disharmony,  
the colorful bird weeps.  
Listening with a smile  
sat Mister Laissez-Faire._

_Though such a corker,  
both beautiful in and out,  
will eventually duff out,  
for it is irreplaceable._

_Dismantled by God himself,  
the bird falls deep in chasm's grasp.  
Reeking dementia  
the gears feast._

_With newfound silence,  
the bird now sleeps.  
Listening with a smile  
sat Mister Laissez-Faire._

* * *

"…_Hershel? Are you alright?"_

Tempted by the angelic voice, young Hershel Layton plasters a smile amongst his face as he fiddles with his new prosthetic limb. To say that he was frightened by the thing would be an understatement; he was utterly _terrified _at the fact that he was now part machine, just like everyone else.

He had been clinging onto his humanity for so long, and now, it was gone.

Another hand was placed onto the machine-like arm, followed by a soft gaze and an angelic smile. His worries always seemed to melt away at that sole gaze, and the fear in his heart was warmed and burnt away.

"Forgive me, Claire. I'm simply trying to get used to such a…_abnormality._" He said, flexing his bronze fingers. They moved, they felt, they touched, but they were not the same as his old hand. If anything, Layton wouldn't desire an arm at all if he knew this was the result of extensions.

"Aw Hershel, it's not that big of a deal!" The woman giggled, patting his shoulder. "If anything, I say we're both the same now! At least we wouldn't have to worry about the full surgery now."

She had a point, the latter thought.

Claire had lost her left leg during an accident during an experiment back at the workshop, something she could never truly forget. She was the very few people that opposed the idea of _"humanity's extension revolution", _but as always, their opinions went unheard by the authorities.

Such was the fate of a Dystopia.

Layton, however, had just lost his right arm due to a malfunction at the factory, which had nearly killed him were it not for his coworkers to quickly step in and work straight away on his injuries. Luckily, the man survived, but with a new arm in his stead. He did not oppose the idea of extensions and machineries, but he had always never favored them.

It was an absolute nightmare for him.

However, with Claire by his side, he was at a more calm and accepting pace now. Thankfully, she had been there to support him with his newfound limb, and in turn, he gave her his love. They were ironically similar in many ways, with both high intellect and victims of tragedies.

Love at first sight, as the saying goes.

"I know something that'll take your mind off that silly thing~" Claire chirped happily as she hurried out of the room for a moment, returning with a fair-sized box that piqued the man's interest. "Here, I've been meaning to give this to you for a while now."

Delicately, he took it from her hands and sat it on his lap. Undoing the golden ribbon and removing the lid, Layton pulled out a…genuine top-hat?

"A hat?" He said, surprised.

Giggling, the woman picked the hat up and placed it firmly on his head, adjusting it until it was just right before stepping back to observe her handiwork.

"It suits you, Hershel, it really does." She said with a smile. "Promise me you'll wear it during dinner tonight!"

Amused but grateful, Layton nodded. "O-Of course, Claire."

Suddenly, the clockwork on the wall began to toll, startling the pair.

"Oh no, late already?" Claire groaned, hurrying to grab her coat. "Sorry Hershel, but they need me back at the lab as soon as possible. We're running an experiment today, and I'm hoping to get some good results!" She went to the door. "You better be wearing that hat when I get home, Mister!" She playfully teased.

Waving as she left, Layton averted his gaze somewhere else, adjusting the new hat one last time with a faint tinge of pink of his cheeks. His chest felt warm, his fear of machinery forgotten, he smiled.

'_How sweet of her.'_

* * *

"…Sir…What do you believe the afterlife is like?"

Luke asked as they stared at the giant clockwork on the wall, the see-through glass revealing gears of all sizes. The giant bronze hands moved slowly, ticking ominously away as time went by, but their attention was focused on the rackets inside.

For on the rackets, coffins were strewn, each decorated with metals and built to preserve the bodies of the deceased. The coffin up on selection showed a woman with long auburn hair, who looked as though to be peacefully sleeping with her arms crossed. A single platinum gear was held within her hands, and at the bottom was a panel.

_Claire Foley  
1852-1875_

"…My boy, its best if I left that unsaid. Even if my opinion is single-minded and disclosed, I fear that speaking of such a pure thing will soon be tainted by us machines."

* * *

_**Bird (Old English?) = A Woman**_

_**Laissez-Faire (?) = A Policy for letting things take their course, without interference**_

_**Duff (Old English?) = To break**_

_**Corker (Old English) = Amazing/Beautiful**_

_**Dementia = A chronic/persistent disorder of the mental process**_

**Author's Note:**** Short chapter is short, 'cause I'm tired. Claire is an awesome person; why'd she have to die, of all people? I want to cry so badly at every sight of this pairing, damn it. ;w; I was also hoping to save "Ambrosia" for the Eternal Diva chapter, but oh well.**

**Review plz?**


	4. Reverence for a Criminal

**Reverence for a Criminal**

* * *

_Admirable bovver boy,  
allow me to speak of a secret._

_Truths are overlooked  
and falsities are welcomed._

_Riddle me this;  
Are you willing to corrupt?_

_Admirable bovver boy,  
allow me to speak of a secret._

_You were not the only victim  
of God' countless pranks._

_Riddle me this;  
How do you do?_

* * *

"You have ten minutes, Sir."

The artificial guard said with a hiss of steam, head creaking left and right as it turned on its heels and marched away from Sir Layton's side, out of sight and out of earshot. There was no need for it to stay and keep watch; the man knew his place, no matter how respected and powerful he may have been.

The gentleman tipped his hat, nodding politely to the figure on the other side of the golden-steel bars. Luke hid behind his back, wary with narrowed brown eyes.

"I'm sorry for coming unannounced, Clive." Layton said with a frown. "When I heard that the dismantlement was to take place today, I could not help but visit you. Out of pity or fear, I'm not so sure though…"

On the other side, the automaton teen scoffed.

"Spare me your pity, Sir." He spat, running a hand through his grime-matted thread of hair. "I've already received enough from the rest of the prisoners here. I've been expecting such a verdict for quite some time, actually."

"…Of course…" The elder hummed quietly. "I suppose that is to be expected from such a…_conniving _devil such as yourself."

Clive smirked, accepting that as a compliment. "What don't tell me you're actually _worried _about me, are you? How flattering."

The machine suddenly frowned, placing a hand over his eyes and growing silent for a moment. Inside his mind, gears span at an abnormal rate, pounding against his metallic skull and muddling his thoughts. To say that he was not afraid of his death sentence would be a complete lie; _every _machine would fear of such a fate.

For dismantlement promised them no second chances at life.

In theory, it's best to be a person with extensions rather than a person that had fully been resurrected as a machine. Those with simple parts and prosthetics are guaranteed a second chance at life, once the authorities had reached the stage that held the solutions to bringing them back, which hadn't quite happened yet.

Automatons, such as Clive however, were promised no such thing. They could live longer than a person with extensions, after all, so why should they be given more privileges?

They had more than enough.

"…Clive, as much as it frightens me to say so…I must confess that I have absolutely no remorse or grudge against you for your actions." Layton sighed, glancing at the clockwork on the wall. _Seven minutes left. _"If anything, I must applaud you for your tenacity. The authorities have put quite a sense of fear in most of us, preventing us from expressing ourselves as much as you did."

"You're obviously pulling at my leg." Clive mumbled, silver teeth grinding. "Why would you, out of all people, praise me for _crime_? I tried to destroy London, for God's sake! Are you mad?"

"Not mad." The man chuckled bitterly. "Simply seeing things from your point of view. Had it ever occurred to you that you might not have been the only victim of the explosion that took place years ago?"

A silent pause for reminiscence.

Clive remembered that awful day; every single damn _second _of it. His parents happily taking him to the workshop for the first in his life, his childish glee and attitude, his _humanity, _all to be ripped away by some _stupid _accident. The workshop had been testing something upon their arrival, and malfunctioned to the point of spontaneously combusting in on itself, taking its victims.

Specifically, his parents.

Being persons with extensions, the two had no hopes for surviving such a blast. Clive, however, was a machine at birth, a fabrication woven with metals and oil. He was the only one left standing, unharmed physically, amidst the ruins of what used to be his hopes and dreams.

The thought of someone close to Layton being at the time of the tragedy had never crossed the teen's mind.

"…W-Was there someone there, Sir?" He asked reluctantly, as though treading carefully. He was never fond of digging into personal affairs that weren't of his own.

A bitter chuckle. "Unfortunately. My beloved once worked there, at the time of the explosion as well. She…hadn't survived, of course. I've taken over the workshop now, in hopes that the same tragedy will never occur again." Layton said.

Clive's eyes flickered to Luke.

"…I-Is Luke…?"

"Indeed. He is also an automaton, one of my creations actually."

The gentleman then patted the smaller boy's head lovingly, as though a Father or a Mother would to their child. Luke's face tinted a bit pinkish, but he accepted the gesture nonetheless.

Interested, the latter went on. "Birth or surgery?"

The inventor hummed again. "Well…he wasn't exactly a human at birth. A child of extensions, really, due to some internal failures and such. I knew his father in the past, so when they came asking for aid, I gave them such, which required a full surgery…and to take what humanity Luke had left." He shivered.

"I will admit it was…_horrifying _to do such a thing."

Clive was silent, allowing the new information to sink into his metallic mind. He had been born a machine, and was guaranteed a long life. Luke was a person of extensions at birth, whom wouldn't have lived for possibly another day had it not for Layton to rip away his human counterparts.

It was both unfair and heartbreaking.

"There's not much time left, Clive." The small boy suddenly said, breaking his train of thought. "We've actually come to offer you something."

"Eh? Offer me what?" The automaton teen asked, brow raised.

What could possibly be offered to a convict that had only a few minutes left before his demise?

"W-Well…though it is not welcomed by the authorities…" Layton coughed quietly. "…I-I've come to ask if you would like a second chance."

…

"You're joking." Clive said, perplexed. "There is no way for us automatons to be given a second chance, Sir; the authorities had confirmed such a fact. Additionally, if I _did _accept such a presumptions offer and you were caught, wouldn't your punishment be just as severe?" He asked.

A small chuckle rumbled in the inventor's throat, having expected such an answer.

"Yes, I suppose they did confirm that. However, I've tested my theory, and I'm willing to bet that it will work with you as well, no matter what they may say. And even if I were to be caught, who's to say it wouldn't be worth it?" He said coolly.

Luke nodded. "Sir Layton is a man of his word, Clive. He would not lie to you."

The teen pondered over the offer for a moment, tilting his head side to side. "…If I agreed, how would you possibly give me a _"second chance"_? I'm going to be dismantled in…" He glanced at the clockwork. "…three minutes, Sir. I doubt that's enough time for a break-out and a run off."

"And that is why we were going to simply take an important part beforehand." Layton stated, placing a metallic finger against his own forehead. "The mechanical mind holds the soul of an automaton, and as long as it is perfectly intact, the body can be fabricated anew. I would only need a few gears from your head etched with memory, and we'd be on our merry way. The dismantlement will go on, unfortunately, but you can be brought back within my workshop, Clive."

"I refuse." He suddenly spoke up, raising a hand to silence the gentleman. "I don't want to be brought back, Sir. I don't deserve any second chances, and I don't want to bring anymore suspicion than you may already possess. I'm fine with permanent dismantlement." He said seriously.

"…B-But Clive!" Luke gasped.

"I will not change my mind." Clive huffed. "Even if I agreed, there's the possibility of me reverting back to my maddened self, is there not? No matter what extensions you provide, I wouldn't be the same anyhow. I'd be a completely different Clive, Luke. I prefer it if there only been one in existence, and that being me."

The automaton boy just stared, baffled by the declaration.

Smiling thinly, Clive chuckled. "One minute left." He said as he moved a hand to the back of his head, moving the cap over and opening a small hatchet beneath his hair. Metal brushed metal, and seconds later he pulled out a small bronze gear, etched with his name.

_Clive Dove._

"Here, take it." He said as he passed it through the golden bars and dropped it into the tiny pale hands of the little assistant. "It's not enough to suffice for an actual automaton…but it's enough to keep a memory alive, eh?" Clive said, ruffling Luke's hair playfully.

The boy clutched onto the gear as though his life depended on it, silently crying.

Behind them, the clockwork tolled.

"…Our time is up then." Layton murmured quietly, placing a comforting hand on Luke's shoulder. "We shall be taking our leave then. It was…a pleasure to know you, Clive Dove." He turned, ushering the boy away just as the mechanical guard was making way with chains in hand.

"It was a pleasure to know you two as well, Sir." The teen responded with a smile. "Thank you for staying by my side. I'm glad to have met you both."

As soon as they were out of the prison, Luke crumpled down, screaming a single name with chords of steel. Though it would have been the rational thing to do, Layton did not dare stop him.

He hadn't the heart to do so.

"_CLIVE!"_

* * *

**_Reverence = A deep respect for someone/something_**

**_Bovver Boy (Old English?) = A youth who purposefully seeks out or cause trouble_**

**Author's Note: Yes, yes, that's possibly the closest ClivexLuke you'll get out of me. I can't believe I just wrote that. ;w; (I'm guessing I'll be killing everyone in this universe...possibly. XD) Ah...I'm a horrible person.**

**I'M RUNNING OUT OF IDEAS, PEOPLE.**

**Review plz?**


	5. Entropica

**Entropica**

* * *

_Miscommunication  
is humanity's sole temptation.  
¿Duplication – Fabrication?  
Machinery's constant misinterpretation._

_Constant discoveries  
run deep in God's tainted blood.  
But only few  
are found by man and stored in HUD._

_¿Do machines dream?  
Indeed, they do.  
An alienated gleam  
is all they shall see._

_Miscommunication  
is humanity's sole temptation.  
¿Are you real – Am I real?  
Machinery's empty-handed deal._

* * *

Steadily, he works.

Though appraised for constancy and effort, Sir Layton was always the sort to overwork himself into exhaustion. Times where his extensions would undeniably shut down, times where his eyes would dare to betray and close shut, times where his conscious would simply up and go like a snap of the fingers; all were inevitable.

So when he would often catch find an illusion or two, his excuse would always be placed on the stress he gains during hours work. After all, it was only logical, right?

There was a moment where Sir Layton had finally paused in his daily invention, strained and hoping to regain some little strength through a cuppa of oil-sweetened tea. Luke, he had no idea of his whereabouts. The boy often disappeared now and then, sometimes running errands in a futile attempt to lessen the load of work they shared, sometimes going off for a moment of peace.

Never need to worry about him though; he was a capable automaton.

Whilst sitting there, allowing the harmonious whirrs of gears to put his mind at peace, the gentleman stiffens as he sees another one of those _"delusions"_, or so he had deemed them. He could faintly see them in the distance, at the center of the workshop grounds, and make out three figures.

One, a tall man with a top-hat oddly similar to his own.

Another, a small boy in blue that oddly looked like Luke.

And finally, an unfamiliar face, belonging to a woman in yellow.

"_Luke, my boy! This reminds me of a simply smashing puzzle!" _The top-hat doppelganger says with a smile, raising a finger into the air as though struck with an idea. Sir Layton notes that, once again, none of these figures bear extensions, and are not likely to be automatons. _(They were simply too flawless to be such.)_

"_Really Professor?" _The blue boy asks, giddy. Had it not been for his gentlemanly side, Layton would have chuckled or even _snort _at the use of the term _"Professor"_. Presently, the word holds no value, now deemed a mockery of a name for those of the future. It was simply _distasteful._

"_Oh, come on Professor!" _The woman huffs, though in a playful way. _"We've been solving puzzles for the last few days! I've had my fair share of logic for once! Can we please just get back to the case at hand?" _She teased, earning a fake look of hurt from the top-hatted man.

"_Ah, but Emmy, there is always a time for puzzles! I suppose you are right though…The importance of the case does, in fact, outweigh the importance of a good brainteaser…" _He sighs a bit disappointingly.

"_So…what exactly is this 'Nautilus chamber of Akbadain'?" _The child asks innocently, just as the three begin to walk forward in Sir Layton's workshop.

"_I'm honestly not sure myself, my boy." _The man hums, their bodies slowly going transparent. _"However, I'm sure it has much to tie with both 'The Wall of Norwell' and 'The Mask of Chaos'. Perhaps a clue to the Azran civilization as well…" _He says with a bit of interest.

They fade, conversation dulling away into silence.

Perplexed, Layton turns away from the spot where the apparitions had once stood, delicately sipping at his tea as he tried to pretend as though the event had never happened in the first place. Obviously, he was overworking himself again; he'd need to take longer breaks now and then.

As he thinks, a voice echoes ominously around the workshop.

"_Leave no puzzle unsolved."_

* * *

**_Entropic(a) - A numerical measure of the uncertainty of an outcome_**

**_HUD - Heads-Up Display_**

**Author's Note:**** SUPER SHORT CHAPTER~ How would you feel if you were to see an illusion of yourself living a completely different life? Honestly, I'm sure not many of us would have stayed as rational and calm as Layton. XD But I digress.**

**Review plz?**


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